


moth to the flame/pray for guidance

by confidencealive (dazzler)



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 20:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10647177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazzler/pseuds/confidencealive
Summary: Ephrim and Hadrian commune with their gods.





	moth to the flame/pray for guidance

The room Brother Ahmad offered him was humble, hardly more than a cot and a washbasin. A small portrait of Samothes hung on the wall, and now Ephrim knew it to be a decent likeness but for its solemn expression. He was grateful there were no windows-- the light of the false sun unnerved him. 

“Thank Samothes you’re here,” Ahmad had said when he’d first arrived. “I’m guessing they sent you to take care of that thing?” 

“Something like that,” Ephrim replied. 

Later that night, while he cleaned the remaining blood from his body, he ran a hand over his chest to find his skin smooth and unmarred, a miracle from his Lord. He disposed of the dirty rags and pulled on the shirt Ahmad lent him, though it was made for an orc and fell somewhere around his knees. At least it was clean. 

Exhausted by the day’s events, Ephrim finally put out the lantern at his bedside and crawled beneath the blanket, but as he lay in the dark he found himself overcome by a sense of restlessness.  He could still feel the warmth of Samothes’ lips touching his forehead, the sick slide of the arrows under his ribs and through his back. He could still hear that deep, comforting voice telling Ephrim how proud he was.

The wetness on his cheek surprised him. He hadn’t cried in a long time. 

A faint noise sounded from the chapel. Ephrim quickly wiped his face on the blanket and snapped his fingers to light the lantern.

The fire he summoned forth flickered not orange and gold, but a dark violet. In the strange light of the flame, it almost looked like the portrait on the wall was smiling. 

  
  


\--

  
  


The throne room was dark when Hadrian opened his eyes. He still recognized the building instantly: tall columns, floor-to-ceiling windows, the view of the city below. It was more somber at night-- not like the glowing palace he saw once, but a mausoleum. 

Samot sat slumped in the iron-wrought throne at the center of the room, dressed in a black robe, his hair hanging over his face in a tangle of gold. Hadrian took an uncertain step forward, and the God-King raised his head. 

“If it isn’t Hadrian, sword of Samothes himself.” He looked different than Hadrian remembered. More tired. Less distinct. As though something was pulling on him at the edges, warping him like armor in fire. 

“It’s your sword I carry now,” Hadrian said. 

“True, I have marked you as my own in little ways.” He smiled. “You’re no longer his pet.” 

Hadrian did not respond. Instead, he sat down heavily on the steps leading up to the throne, facing away from Samot. 

“My father spoke with you.” Samot’s voice grew-- not colder, but it took on an almost bored quality. “Now you know more than most of your creed. More than most people of Hieron, in fact, including our  _ friend  _ the wizard. And he thinks himself quite knowledgeable.”

Hadrian bowed his head. “You shouldn’t talk about him like that.”

He didn’t hear Samot’s footsteps. A hand alighted on his shoulder, long fingers curling in the white cloak. 

“I know what it’s like to lose family, Hadrian.”

“They’re not--” His protest died in his throat when Samot drew close enough that his lips brushed the shell of Hadrian’s ear.

“Something else troubles you. You can tell me.” Samot’s hair tickled at the back of his neck, and Hadrian struggled to keep his breathing even. 

“Is he here?”

“In your dream? No, but a ghost of him lingers beneath this tower, trapped.” Samot sat down beside him on the steps, picking up the end of Hadrian’s cloak and wrapping it around his shoulders as well. 

Seeing him up close, it was like Samot came into focus for the first time. Perhaps Hadrian had been imagining things. He still looked tired, though. There were shadows under his eyes. 

“You must be lonely,” said Hadrian. 

Samot laughed, soft and musical, his arm touching Hadrian’s. “Save your pity. I’m certain someone else could use it.” 

Hadrian sent a silent prayer to Samothes-- “What here is evil?” --and the answer rang out clearly in his head:  _ Samot, Samot, Samot _ . 

“We’ll see each other soon. I did promise you.” Samot cupped Hadrian’s cheek,  and Hadrian leaned in to meet him. The voice spoke no more.


End file.
